The Dead Raiser and the Healer
by LunaMarr
Summary: Enoch O'Connor was not a lonely boy, on the contrary he enjoyed the solitude that came with living in the basement. It isn't until a curious new ward arrives that he begins to wonder if he could use an assistant-or something more. Rating may change
1. Chapter 1

When every day is the same, it is rare to awaken and imagine it would be any different. Enoch, who was the eldest of Ms. Peregrine's wards, did not expect anything different when he awoke that morning; there was no change as he slipped on his overalls, and nothing particularly out of the ordinary when he ate his breakfast in relative quiet. He retreated back into the darkness of his basement, the overwhelming smell of home-mixed formaldehyde welcoming to his desensitized nose. He collected a few jars from the kitchen, cleaning the containers and prepping them for the day when they would hold something of greater value to him than canned peaches. Not that he secretly minded the process of emptying them, but he still begrudgingly accepted them each time he came sniffing around the scullery for any old glass jars, each time grumpily accepting them from Emma's questioning glare, before heading to his basement to enjoy his delicacy in private.

His room-just adjacent from his pseudo laboratory-was nearly barren; a simple wardrobe containing his few clothes and possessions, along with a few larger glass vessels atop it, an old warped mattress on an even older metal frame, and a rickety bedside table that was covered in a small cloth where his homunculi rested. It was all very bland, the walls dank and grey, his bed made and neat but drab, and the wood of his wardrobe pale and weathered. Looking in one would think it was abandoned, or the occupant underprivileged, but it was just the way Enoch liked it. Come noon he sighed, pausing in his labor to look over his handiwork. His newest homunculus, a small swollen looking thing with two arms and no legs-was in need of more clay. He stood decidedly, sweeping his cap onto his head and several of his men including his newest recruit into his largest pocket, before finally grabbing his usual basin and heading out into the bright light. He escaped out the back door, avoiding the gaze of the other children and scoffing when he interrupted Fiona and Hugh's tryst, the couple breaking apart with Hugh's shout of "Enoch!" He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, turning on his heel and squinting from the sun overhead.

He trudged towards the cairn tunnel, where he always found the most workable clay, and today he knew would be no different. He didn't care as the mud squelched around his boots and coated his already dirty overalls, his thin frame stooping to gather some of the necessary mud into his dish. The small path that led to the cairn was muddy with tracks, thought it had technically been over a year since the last rain. With a huff, he quickly plucked several of his men as they fell from his pocket, sinking into the mud up to their waists and waving their small arms frantically. He thought nothing of it when he turned away from the tunnel, unaware as he annoyedly tried stuffing his men back into his front pocket, nearly swearing when they refused to stay put. He dropped his pot with a hiss and sank down into the mud on all fours, hurriedly saving his men as they sunk. He was just digging out the last of them when he felt his hand slice when he happened upon a sharp rock just out of sight. He froze when he heard a soft echo, the near silent spattering of footsteps alerting him that he was not alone. He turned his head slowly, heart pounding and too aware that he had come completely alone-wincing at his own mistake. He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to see if a wight would emerge from the darkness, cursing himself for his moment of cowardice. He wished Abe was still around. Or even Victor. It was not a second later when a collected and sharp voice rang out into the clearing;

"Enoch O'Connor, you better not be planning on tracking mud all through the scullery again!" He grimaced at the scolding and quickly stood, trying and failing miserably to sweep the mud from his forearms. The Old Bird stepped out from the tunnel slowly; an open parasol in hand even through the day had quickly turned cloudy and negated the use against the sun, and they both knew it would not rain. Enoch narrowed his eyes as a shadow became visible behind the children's caretaker, a small pale arm wrapped delicately around Miss Peregrine's. His face twisted into a scowl until Miss Peregrine berated him again.

"Polite persons do not stare Mr. O'Conner, unless perhaps you would be willing to escort our young Eleanor home?" His lips tightened but he nodded, somewhat struggling as he pulled himself from out of the giant mud pile and onto the path. Miss Peregrine gave a curt nod before continuing on, obviously hurried despite her deliberately calm walk. Enoch glared at her quickly disappearing figure before turning back to the young girl in front of him. She was small in stature and form, though too mature, he discreetly noticed, to be a child. In his time, she would have been old enough to begin courting he imagined, though looking her over now he doubted she had ever had any suitors. She was pale as he was, if not more so, and her dark tangled hair only added to her overall look of sickliness. It stood wild and broken around her head, like a dark halo, though still not frazzled enough to compete with Fiona's mane. He noticed a few leaves tangled in the strands, the dirt that smeared her face and slight hands. Her clothes were none the better; she could have been wearing a flour sack for all it mattered, dirty as it was; and her dark tights were picked and filthy, as well as the worn, over-sized coat wrapped around her. Her only distinguishing feature were her eyes; dark but doe-like, and had they not been filled with fatigue and underlined with sleep deprivation, he was sure they could have passed for comely.

"You're filthy" he scorned, realizing that like him she too had been studying him.

"So are you," she replied shyly, her voice dry. He opened his mouth to retort when suddenly her hand reached out, too close and he jumped away with a hiss. "I like your little men." She muttered softly, quickly retracting the extended hand. He sniffed, stretching his entire five foot four inches to stand over her and turning on his heel. He began quickly making his way back home, eager to get away from this girl and finish his newest creation. He had some mouse hearts he had opened in the basement and he needed to get back before they lost their freshness. He didn't bother slowing down as she struggled to keep up with his quick stride, the loud crunching of the rock on the path echoing quickly behind him. He stopped only for a moment, wiping off as much muck as he could in the grass before marching through the back door and making a beeline for the stairs, aware that the new girl was still following him. Without missing a beat he slammed the door shut behind him, effectively cutting her out of his basement and workshop. With a sigh he replaced his cap on the table and retrieved his pot, not caring as his men slowly climbed out of his overalls, resting next to the nearly formed body of their comrade.

He hated new people.

~O~

Sooo, what did you think? I recently reread Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children and fell back in love with it again-sigh-and completely remembered the crush I had on Enoch~ [andMillardbutwewon'ttalkaboutthat]

Anywho, it's been nearly a year since I've written anything so please leave me some feedback my fellow Peculiars~ ;)

I'd like to say thank you to **Thargelion** for being my beta reader, whom without these chapters would not be nearly as good!


	2. Chapter 2

So to give an idea of the time-it's 1941, Abe has been gone for a year, and for this story's sake we're going to pretend the Great Depression is still fairly prevalent in England-despite the fact that Great Britain had begun to recover some at this time.

**Meggleshi:** Thank you for the fav/watch! :)

**Guest:** Thank you! I'm doing my best to turn out chapters at a reasonable pace-my problem in the past is I would write really long chapters and would take AGES to polish them and make them perfect. This is a bit of an experiment for me, I'm going to upload the basic chapter when I have it, (hopefully weekly) and revise as I go along. I'm hoping this will stop me from doing what I have done in the past, where readers have to wait forever and a day to get a 5,000 word chapter, then wait even longer for the next update.

~O~

Eleanor blanched when the door shut in her face, flinching at the loud bang that reverberated through the door frame. Her hand went to the knob, gently trying to twist it open only to find that it was stuck fast. She let out a sigh, only to jump in shock when a voice sounded behind her.

"Don't take it personally, Enoch is always like that." Her eyes went wide as she searched the empty area, leaning back against the door in panic and fumbling to open it. "E-enoch-?"

"It's alright,." She felt a hand grasp and firmly shake hers, and she opened her mouth to introduce herself. "Millard Nullings at your service," the voice supplied, "I assume you're the girl Miss Peregrine left to find?"

"Y-yes, Elle." She nodded quickly, feeling out of place as she spoke to the empty air. She adjusted her coat on her shoulders, when a new voice sounded out.

"Don't mind Millard, he likes to show off." A girl appeared around the corner, drying a glass with an old towel. Her voice was terse, and her eyes held a sort of sadness despite her clear loveliness. Her blond hair was styled short and in loose finger waves, the sort that Elle had only seen in pictures nearly a decade before, and she wore a pretty white dress that fell just past her knees. Her face was oval and clear, and her lips were small but shaped prettily, like a film star's. Elle felt her face heat in comparison, and she rubbed the dirt on her cheek absentmindedly.

"Emma Bloom, so have you already unpacked your things, or-?" Elle broke out of her reverie and quickly shook her head, tugging on her sleeves.

"Oh, no, I didn't bring anything." Emma raised her eyebrow in surprise, and she imagined Millard must have as well because he was quick to speak up.

"You didn't bring anything? Not even spare clothes?" Elle looked towards the Invisible boy, frowning.

"No, I didn't-did Miss Peregrine say where I was supposed to go-?"

"Here-" Emma shoved the cup and towel into the empty air, and Millard must have grabbed it because it stayed suspended there. "Follow me." Eleanor quietly shuffled after the girl, the floorboards creaking under her shoes. She slipped up the stairs after Emma, catching a glimpse of a girl with golden curls skip into the main foyer. She returned her attention to Emma, who had paused to observe her.

"The bird said to escort you to the washroom." She gestured to the door on her right, folding her arms. "We're playing raid the village tomorrow-you can get some new clothes then." With that she left her, heading down stairs and disappearing from Eleanor's view. Elle swallowed and nudged open the door, slowly closing it behind her. The room matched the fashion of the rest of the house, and she slid off her coat and hung it on the doorknob. The floor was covered in small white tiles, and the wall paper was dark and a rich mossy color. A porcelain claw foot tub was pushed against the wall, and a matching sink stood opposite. Hanging above it was an old mirror, its surface spotted with age but still usable. She placed the stopper in the tub, carefully twisting the squeaky old faucets until the water flowed at a moderate temperature. She stood on her toes as she pulled her dress over her head, the heavy fabric filled with the smell of factory smoke and dirt. She hung it up on a dark hook on the back of the door, and turned to look at herself in the mirror that hung over the sink. She frowned. The girl looking back at her hardly resembled herself. Feeling suddenly self-conscious Elle quickly pulled off her tights and bloomers, and stepping into the tub paled in horror when swirls of dirt appeared. She quickly began to scrub at the filth, and with a gasp of air dunked herself under the tepid surface. Her hands came up to scrub her scalp, massaging loose days of sweat and filth. She rose out of the water with a gasp, and let out a unladylike yelp of surprise when she heard the door creak open.

"Don't come in-"

"It's alright," Emma cut off. She peaked in, her eyes not straying from where Eleanor had put her clothing. "I brought this, so you'd have something to change into." She held up a dark grey dress, and though it was obviously too big she was grateful all the same. She drew her knees up to her chest, pushing her hair back from her face and nodding. "Thank you, Miss Bloom."

"Just Emma." She said sharply, though Eleanor was certain she saw a glimmer of a smile touch her lips. She placed the dress on the hook and closed the door with a reassuring _click_, and Eleanor sank back under the warm water. She couldn't remember the last time she had washed, and being able to enjoy the tub now was luxurious. When she finally felt clean again she pulled the stopper from the drain and stepped out of the tub, dripping onto the tile. She shivered and wrapped herself in a towel, quickly drying off and wringing out her wild hair before partially taming it into a braid. She pulled on her bloomers and pulled Emma's dress over here head, adjusting it so it would stay up properly on her shoulders. It was too long on her, and she couldn't get the buttons on the back herself. She glanced into the mirror and felt slightly better, at least now she looked clean. Piling up her clothes in a folded pile and making sure the room was put to rights; she stepped to the door and peaked out.

"Emma? Are you still out there…?" She was met with silence until suddenly a pale eye contrasted by equally pale skin and nearly black dark circles appeared.

"What, did you break something?" Enoch sneered. Eleanor frowned and stepped away from the crack in the door, still holding the dress with one hand so it wouldn't fall off her slim shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" she asked embarrassedly, not forgetting his rude introduction earlier. She saw something flicker across his face before quickly being replaced by apathy, and he held up a muddy arm.

"Waiting in line." He frowned, a tinge of exasperation tainting his words.

"Could you get Emma please?" She heard his annoyed sigh, and the sound of heavy footfalls told her he went to stand back by the wall.

"She went outside." He muttered. She peaked out again, seeing where he sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. She quickly realized he had been waiting for some time, and she spoke up again, this time apologetically.

"I'm sorry I've kept you waiting."

"Don't be daft, girls always take too long in the washroom. Besides, if you'd stop talking and finish I would be done already." He snapped. Her face grew hot, but she held back a retort, instead sighing.

"Could you help me then?" His eyes snapped open in surprise, making her instantly regret her request, and she saw his brows furrow in confusion.

"Wot d'you mean by tha?" his cockney accent came out sharply in his state of surprise, and for a moment she wondered what part of London he was from.

"I need help, getting the back done up. Can't reach it by myself." She mumbled quietly. He sniffed, his head hitting the wall loudly.

"Who wears clothes they can't put on themselves?" he whined.

"I can't come out until it's done up." She said, feeling her face grow redder by the second. It was hard enough to admit she couldn't do the complicated buttons herself, let alone that she had to ask him of all people for assistance.

He stood with a huff, and she heard him pad to the door. "Turn 'round." He muttered, she felt him prod at the fabric, feeling for the button through the tiny crack in the door.

"Don't look-"

"I'm not looking!" he snapped, and she could hear the embarrassment in his voice. He quickly began doing up the buttons, and she turned her head enough to see that he was indeed keeping his eyes firmly set on the ceiling. He made quick work of it, and when he was done she opened the door fully, quietly noting the redness clinging to his pale cheeks.

"Thank you." She said, trying to remain polite.

"Yea, well, I'm not a peeping tom if that's what you think." He hissed. "The only one around here to worry about is Millard." Eleanor's eyes went wide in shock, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance. He pushed past her to start scrubbing his arms in the sink, his lips pursed. She heard him hiss quietly in pain, and she noticed the long cut on his right palm. She fidgeted, feeling the air grow awkward. He seemed to also become aware because after a moment he reached out to slam the door. She stepped back into the hall, and shyly peeked down the stairs. She felt a hand gently grasp her shoulder and she let out a squeal of surprise.

"Miss Eleanor, that is highly unnecessary." Miss Peregrine said, one eyebrow raised above her round glasses. Eleanor's face twisted with discomfort, and her hands fisted themselves into her dress.

"Why did you leave me?" she mumbled, twisting the fabric in her hands.

"I apologize for my sudden departure, but Miss Finch had a pressing matter that was in need of my attention. Now, if you'd like to come to dinner and meet the rest of your housemates?" Eleanor nodded, growing anxious at the thought.

~O~

Enoch did his best to hide his humiliation at her request, hurriedly fastening up the buttons that were out of her reach and wishing he had the ability to teleport. As soon as he finished he pushed past her to wash off the mud from earlier, knowing he wouldn't be allowed dinner if he showed up in his current slovenly state.

He focused on cleaning the cut in his hand, and realized she was still watching him, curious.

He quickly shut her out, his face uncomfortably warm. His lips pursed as he went back to the sink, slowly rubbing the caked dirt from his arm.

_Stupid girl_.

~O~

I'm trying to keep Eleanor from becoming annoying, but keeping her in the sort of character I originally planned for her. :) Anywho, yay for snobby Enoch since he's easily the hardest for me to write.


	3. Chapter 3

**Guest:** I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! :) Here's number 3 hon~

~O~

Another chair had at some point been added to the table, and Eleanor sat between Emma and a young girl that was currently roped down, who she now knew was named Olive.

"Does Britain still rule the world?" she inquired.

"Has it changed much out there?" said another.

"Is the war nearly over?"

"Children, please." Miss Peregrine huffed. "Polite person's do not berate their guests with questions." The table grew quiet, and she heard heavy footfalls as Enoch came down the stairs and entered the room. He sat at the end of the table, and without pausing to greet his fellow peculiars he began to serve himself. Miss Peregrine's lips tightened, but she turned away from him and instead addressed the only empty chair at the table.

"Mr. Nulling's, I shouldn't have to tell you that it is impolite to come to supper in the nude." She said sternly. Elle heard a grumble come from the empty chair, and muffled a giggle. Millard was gone for only a moment, returning wearing a cap, and in that time the chatter had started back up albeit quietly. Emma turned to her, flashing a smile.

"So what is it you do?" she popped a piece of ham in her mouth.

"I do?"

"Yes, what is it that makes you peculiar?" she clarified with a scoff, scooping up some cranberries.

"Oh, I dunno." Eleanor muttered, pushing her food around her plate before stuffing a fork full in her mouth. _Delicious._

Emma rolled her eyes, nudging her with her elbow. "What do you mean you don't know? You have to know!"

"Miss Elle's abilities have only just developed Miss Bloom." Miss Peregrine interrupted. There was something serious in the statement, thought it evaded the newest member, and Emma dropped the subject with a nod. A boy who sat further down the table spoke up, his top hat bobbing when he dabbed at his mouth with an embroidered napkin.

"So Miss Elle, would you be willing to enlighten us as to the current status of the war?" he queried, his voice nothing but polite formality. The entire table seemed to become alert at this, and she felt Emma stiffen next to her.

"Well," Elle felt herself flush slightly as all eyes rested on her, and she continued shakily; "I can't say I know everything that is going on, only that they've been bombing all over London and they're still trying to evacuate everyone."

The table was deathly quiet, and Bronwyn was the first to speak up.

"What about the other children, have they gotten them all out yet?" Her brows scrunched together, worry filling her voice.

"They're trying. It's hard when-"

"What about the schools? What are they doing about-"

"And the soldiers? Are the soldiers helping-?"

Emma stood abruptly, her chair scratching against the floor. The Peculiars went silent. Her face was twisted into a glare. Everything seemed to go still, and Eleanor was certain she could feel the heat radiating from her. She eyed everyone at the table, scowling, before storming out the entryway.

"Did I say something wrong?" Eleanor breathed softly, eyes wide as Emma stamped up the stairs.

"No," Miss Peregrine said, "The war has been hard on all of us. Especially Miss Bloom." Eleanor nodded, though not fully understanding.

"So how did you get here?" The curt question surprised even Eleanor, and several heads turned to face the voice located at the end of the table. Enoch had his head rested against one fist, his head tilted to the side as he gazed at Eleanor questioningly. Miss Peregrine frowned, her mouth opening to scold Enoch for his callous remark, but Elle answered before she had the chance.

"Miss Peregrine found me when the air raid sirens went off." She said forcibly. Memories from only a day and a half ago came burning back to the forefront of her mind. She felt her eyes become glassy, and she blinked rapidly to keep them from falling. "She led me to safety, then brought me here." The table was quiet, and several of the peculiars turned to glare at Enoch. He gave a small nod before looking back to his food, stabbing several bean pods with his fork. He chewed stoically, either unware of the stares he was receiving or blatantly ignoring them. When he finished eating he stood, carrying his plate into the next room over and laying it in the sink. Eleanor watched his retreating form disappear around the corner, and the sound of the cellar door slamming shook the old house. Deciding it would be best to leave, Eleanor coughed politely.

"May I be excused to wash my dishes?" Miss Peregrine nodded her consent and Eleanor carried her dishes to the scullery. She reached into the deep sink and lathered the cloth between her hands, washing and drying her plate and silverware before storing it in the cupboard.

The buzz of conversation continued in the other room, a gentle hum of voices that she would have to learn to recognize. She tried to pick them apart them for a moment, managing to recognize Millard's polite but teasing tone, and Olive's chirpy squeals, but unable to recognize anyone else. She stood next to the sink, scratching at the metal absentmindly. She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to be met with a barrage of questions. She tiptoed to the backdoor, cautiously listening for a pause in the hum of talking, and when it continued without problem she slipped out into the night.

The sun had just set, and darkness was settling. She slipped down the stairs, the small rock walkway crunching under her feet. The air was cool, crisp and moist, and she felt a chill nip at her skin. The coolness, despite the lack of rain, reminded her of home.

_Or what used to be home._

She turned to face the building, wrapping her arms around herself.

_This is your home now._

Suddenly a wall broke in her, a reservoir of emotion, and she felt a choked sob rip from her throat. Her hand came up to muffle it, and she let herself slip to the sidewalk. Her knees dug into the pebbles and she cried openly into her hands. The last two days she had been running solely on adrenaline, and now safe, the gravity of the situation weighed down on her. They were stuck, like the loop in a hook rug, stuck in a cozy little world perfectly preserved while the outside raged on. The war would continue. And they, in a way, would not.

Every day for the last year that she had woken wondering _how she had made it through the night_…would never happen again.

She was safe.

The realization brought on a cool sense of relief, until she heard the sirens.

~O~

*Does a little dance*

Sooo…good, bad, ugly? Let me know~

Also, rounded up her 1 ½ to 2 towards the end if you were wondering why it changed. : )


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